Someone Like You
by ignorethisiwas12
Summary: "It's been a long time Gilbert... half a lifetime." "Not for us." he spits the words out, like they leave a bitter taste in his mouth. "It's nothing when you live forever... Are you happy Roderich?"  Songverse Continuity
1. Part One

**Title:** Someone Like You**  
>Author: <strong>TinaBanina96**  
>Summary:<strong> "It's been a long time Gilbert... half a lifetime." "Not for us." he spits the words out, like they leave a bitter taste in his mouth. "It's nothing when you live forever... Are you happy Roderich?"  
>He used to be the one that would watch him lose control. Inspired by ADELE's 'Someone Like You'<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This is really quite different to anything I've written before (well, to me I guess). Please don't hate me... It's my first attempt at anything involving Hetalia ships.<br>This shouldn't be too long. Only a few parts :)**

**DISCLAIMER: Neither Hetalia, nor '****_Someone Like You'_**** belong to me.**

* * *

><p><strong>Part One<strong>

**_August 1864_**

_He stands on the battle worn ground, white boots sinking into the mud. Today he has won. No, they have won. _

_He looks left, and sees the nation standing next to him. Austria's coat is splattered in mud, ripped and torn in places from bayonets and gunshots. His brown hair is messy, wind tousled and damp, and the glasses that usually frame his eyes are askew, almost falling off his aristocratically uptilted nose._

_He's never seen him like this before, so... so un-perfect._

_Austria catches him watching and graces him with a small smile, before turning back to the defeated nation in front of them._

_"It's over Denmark. Prussia and I have won."_

_The blonde Nordic scowls at them. Austria looks down at him for just a second and turns away, ordering some nearby soldiers to guard the fallen Denmark. _

_It's then when he sees it. That unfamiliar conquering spirit bright in Austria's eyes, so bright. _

_He had always wondered how this piano playing pacifist could have become an Empire, the major power in Europe. Only 100 years ago, he, the awesome Prussia, had gained Silesia so easily. He had always put it down to the fact that Hungary was on his side, and she was one scary nation._

_But through this war, he'd seen a different side of Austria, one he hadn't known existed. Here on the battlefield, this part of Austria had emerged. It was a wild part, one that had lost that composure, and could kill and fight freely. It was dirty, powerful, strange Austria. _

_It was beautiful._

**_1900_**

"Will you never leave me alone you insufferable idiot?"

The Austrian glares at him, anger burning in those oh so familiar eyes. He smiles back in answer.

"She's not here to protect you right now, is she Roddy?"

The musician's hand clenches.

"Well Roddy? Where is Liz today?" he chuckles. Roderich's never liked the nickname.

"My wife-

His smile falters when he hears the Austrian say that.

-is visiting Feliks."

"Just you and me then, I guess." He takes a step forward, bringing himself closer to the Austrian, who stands his ground, violet fire still burning. "Almost like old times, right Roderich? Remember Schleswig?"

His words are laced with nostalgia, no longer carrying the mocking tone it usually does. The Austrian's face softens.

"Gilbert..."

**_30_****_th_****_ October 1864_**

_"Hey Austria."_

_The Austrian looks up from whatever he's writing, hand poised mid air_

_"Yes Prussia?" Austria sounds tired. Understandable. It's late, very late. He doesn't know why he's still here in Vienna, still here in Austria's house._

_Austria looks as neat as ever, but he still hasn't quite lost that arrogant battle-ready demeanour that he demonstrated during the war. A glimpse of it is still there, under the combed back hair and the neatly buttoned coat._

_It intrigues him. The remains of that side of Austria, still visible even after almost two months._

_He walks towards the seated Austrian, closing the gap in three quick steps. He looks down, noticing the papers scattered all over Austria's desk, and crumpled up on the floor. Sheet music. Of course._

_"I.." he starts to speak, but for some reason he can't form the words. This has never happened before. He's Prussia. The Awesome Kingdom of Prussia. Struck speechless in front of the namby-pamby pianist._

_Austria peers at him, and drops the pen, reaching one hand up to brush a stray brown hair out of his face._

_He finds himself transfixed by this small action._

_"Why are you still here?" asks Austria, raising an eyebrow. "You're free to go home Prussia. The Treaty has been signed and the celebration is over."_

_He was right. The Treaty of Vienna had been signed earlier, and the Kingdom of Denmark had given up Schleswig, Holstein and Saxe-Lauenburg to the Kingdom of Prussia and the Austrian Empire. The three duchies were to be governed by them. Together._

_After the signing of the Treaty, there had been a party at Austria's house. A small celebration held by his boss, and Austria's boss. He, and Austria, had been up front and centre, mixing and mingling, as you do._

_During the party, he'd found himself watching Austria, watching for no real reason at all, except that he couldn't look away. Every little step the pianist took, every perfectly controlled action, was fascinating to him because he'd seen the nation lose that control. _

_But now the party was long over, and everyone had gone home._

_Not him though._

_"I.." his mouth attempts to form words again, to say something. "I don't know."_

_ "Then go home." Austria turns away again, looking back down at his music. His hand moves, pen meeting paper. Another perfectly written note on that perfectly straight stave._

_And then he realises why he's here. He reaches out and grabs the Austrian's hand, yanking it lightly to the side, marring the music. He hears the Austrian's cry of protest and exasperation and it makes sense now, it all makes sense._

_Austria stands up, frown on his delicate face. He's angry, but he hasn't shaken off his hand._

_So beautiful._

_He reaches out with the other hand and grabs the back of Austria's head, leaning in to kiss him. For a moment, Austria is still, completely still, but only for a moment._

_Then Austria's arms are around him and there's a new urgency in the kiss._

_The pen in Austria- no- Roderich's hand drops to the floor and they break for air. He sees confusion, shock, anger, joy... a mix of conflicting emotions flashing through the violet eyes._

_He smiles at the Austrian, whose brown hair is now dishevelled and glasses are lopsided. This is why he stayed._

_To see Roderich lose control._

**_1900_**

"It's been a long time Gilbert." Roderich says softly, pushing his glasses up with a quick movement. "Since then, I mean."

"Not that long Roderich."

"36 years. Half a lifetime."

"Not for us." he spits the words out, like they leave a bitter taste in his mouth. "It's nothing when you live forever."

His hand is drawn to Roderich's face, brushing it gently. The pianist seems to freeze at the touch, but he doesn't turn away.

"Why are you here Gilbert?" Roderich's words are careful. There's no harshness anymore, no trace of anger.

"I..."

He's been here before. 36 years ago, in this same room, with this same nation. Just like before, his words are escaping him, but this time... this time his reasons are slightly different.

Everything is slightly different...

"Are you happy?" he blurts the words out before he forgets how to say them. The Austrian raises his eyebrows in surprise, but otherwise says nothing.

"Are you happy?" he repeats, reaching forward and grabbing Roderich's arm before he can turn away. "Tell me."

"I..."

And this time it's Roderich who can't seem to speak.

* * *

><p><strong>bricked  
>I'm a terrible person who should be finishing the next chapter of her Naruto fanfic... but instead I'm writing this...<br>HISTORY TIME:  
>The war that Prussia and Austria fought together was the Second War of Schleswig. It was against Denmark. Basically, in 1863, the King of Denmark died at a really unfortunate time, just before he could sign a document that would create a joint parliament that would govern Denmark and the duchy of Schleswig, instead of just annexing Schleswig to Denmark. The new king did end up signing the document, but the German Confederation (The Kingdom of Prussia and the Austrian Empire) saw this as a violation of the peace treaty signed after the First War of Schleswig. For more info on this, I would suggest Wikipedia since I don't really explain it very well.<br>In the end, the Austro-Prussian Alliance won the SWoS and the duchies of Schleswig, Holstein and Saxe-Lauenburg ended up being handed over from Denmar to Prussia and Austria.**

**Reviews please?  
>bricked again**


	2. Part Two

**AN: Please enjoy Part Two of this fanfiction :D Pffft this was hard to write XD**

**DISCLAIMER: Neither Hetalia, nor '****_Someone Like You'_**** belong to me.**

* * *

><p><strong>Part Two<strong>

**_July 1865_**

_It's been a while since he's had the chance to get together with his friends. In all honesty, the reason he hasn't seen them in a few months is the same reason he's been travelling to Vienna so often lately._

_It's always the same. He goes to Roderich, never the other way around. He doesn't question it._

_In fact, he prefers it that way._

_"Bonjour, mon cher." _

_"Hola, Gilbert!"_

_His train of thought is de-railed by the arrival of a blonde and brunette, sweeping into his living room._

_"Francis! Antonio!" He grins in greeting, happily receiving an air kiss from the Frenchman and a hearty hug from the Spaniard."How's it going?"_

_The three sit down to catch up and he finds himself zoning out as Francis regales them with tales of his latest sexual conquest, and his thoughts return to Roderich._

_Pale fingers trailing along creamy, perfect skin... those deep violet eyes, usually so cold, burning with heat... the moment when the musician made his mark..._

_His hand travels subconsciously to touch a small discoloured patch on his neck, remembering the sharp sting of teeth breaking skin._

_His friends notice the action. Francis smirks and raises a perfectly groomed blonde eyebrow._

_"New flame, Gilbert?" asks Francis, who slides closer and drapes an arm around his shoulders. "Pray tell us, who?"_

_"Gilbert! Mi amigo, have you found love?" Antonio's smile is wide and unassuming, full of joy for him._

_He wonders whether to tell them. How amused will his friends be when the discover that the nation that he had so often declared 'completely un-awesome' is the nation that is now occupies his time?_

_"Try and guess." he turns it into a game, because this way he won't have to say it._

_"Don't tell me Elizaveta actually decided to stop abusing you and start... amusing you?" _

_"Wait, you mean Elizaveta's abandoned her love for the pianist?"_

_He doesn't reply as Francis and Antonio start discussing this sudden revelation. For a moment, he lets them discuss it._

_"So if Elizaveta is yours-"_

_"It's not her."_

_His statement causes the two to pause. Antonio's smile fades a little as he asks in confusion:_

_"But who else could it be?"_

**_1900_**

His hand stays where it is, gripped tightly onto the thin arm of the pianist's. Roderich does nothing to make him let go.

They are frozen in place like this. Neither dares to move, for fear of... for fear of what, exactly?

He sees the pianist take a quick breath, lips parting just a little.

The small movement is the breaking point and he finds himself leaning in and repeating history.

**_July 1865_**

_"Gilbert, you can't be serious... Roderich?" Francis gasps in exaggerated shock. He always did have a flair for the dramatic._

_He nods. He never thought he'd be in this situation, telling his two closest friends in the whole world about... this._

_"Wait." Antonio speaks up, frowning slightly. "You mean, my ex-husband Roderich?"_

_The words are spoken slowly, with care. He rolls his tongue on the 'R's in Roderich, seemingly drawing the name out. _

_He freezes. Ex-husband? _

_"What?" It's all he can say. "When?"_

_"We were married for... around 200 years. From the 1500s or so." Antonio shrugs, and that beaming smile returns to his face. "But don't worry about that mi amigo, I'm happy for you!"_

_It's hard for him to take the words lightly. As soon as they're said, the pale, almost white hand becomes tanned, and the eyes watching the musician are not red, but green._

_"You didn't know, Gilbert?" Francis asks, surprise evident in his tone of voice. "Your new beau has certainly had lovers before you... surely you did not believe Roderich to be a complete virgin, hm?"_

_He shakes his head. He's speechless, again. This was happening way too often to his awesome self lately. _

_Of course he knew of the great Hapsburgs of that age. It seems he had conveniently forgotten the fact that Roderich (beautiful, elegant, his Roderich) had in fact had a past. It was easier for him to forget history.__He shakes his head. He's speechless, again. This was happening way too often to his awesome self lately._

_Antonio chooses then to change the subject, perhaps sensing his distress. Their conversation continues, and they do not mention Roderich by name._

_That night, when he goes to see the pianist, he does not speak. There is no declaration of arrival, no taunting, flirtatious lines. Simply a hard, almost forceful kiss to start with, and, on his part, a untamed, absolute need to possess._

_If Roderich finds it strange, he doesn't show it._

_The next morning he leaves the Austrian with light, purpling bruises along his arms and red marks like stains against his elegant neck. He smiles at the sight, and tries hard to forget the insecurities and images brought on by Antonio's words._

_Austria is his territory now._

**_1900_**

Again, he notices the differences between this time, and last.

Now, Roderich pulls away, and he sees something dark flicker fast and faint through the Austrian's eyes, turning them the deepest indigo for the briefest moment.

His hand remains, clutching at the fabric of the purple coat, arm extended outwards, keeping him apart from the other Nation. He waits for a reaction, for him to just say... anything.

But the Austrian is paralysed.

"Nothing to say, Roderich?" he tries to smirk, attempts to hide the slow panic that is starting to settle in. "Well?"

It feels like forever before he gets a reply, each passing second stretching out to an hour. He is no longer sure about the flow of time, about how long he's _actually_ been there.

"You should go."

Three words. That's it. Not the three words he wants to hear, but at least finally, _finally, _the musician's talking.

**_October 1865_**

_Vienna is beautiful in the early morning light._

_For once, he's awake before Roderich, and for that reason, he doesn't really know what to do with himself. _

_So he walks to the window and just looks at the world waking up._

_It's strange, how at peace he feels. He never used to be so calm. It's a nice feeling though. Very different than the usual turmoil and noise._

_ For the last year, he's found himself travelling to Austria more and more often. Staying in Austria more and more often. The Kingdom of Prussia has been very well lately, slowly gaining power. The economy was not only stable, but growing at quite the pace, so he could afford to spend more time out of his country._

_There's a small knock at the door. He looks over at Roderich, but the noise hasn't woken him. The sight of the sleeping Austrian without his glasses is oddly... cute. The nation looks vulnerable, younger... thinner? He frowns. Lately, Roderich has been tired, and a little ill._

_The person at the door knocks again, and this time he goes to answer. Out of the two men there, only one seems surprised to see him, and not the representation of Austria, answer the door._

_He recognises the surprised man as one of his boss's messengers (Bastian Kortig – a nice guy). The other man is one of Roderich's personal servants, one who he'd seen around a lot._

_"Herr Beilschmidt." Roderich's servant – Franz or something – looks at him with a raised eyebrow. "We were expecting Herr Edelstein. Usually you'd still be asleep, wouldn't you?"_

_There's something cold and offhand about the way the man addresses him. He scowls at the servant. Franz, or whatever, has always seemed to hate him._

_"Ja, whatever Franzy. What do you want?" _

_He smirks at Franz's expression. Austrians really did not seem to like nicknames. Whenever he issues one of them with an awesome new name, they always do that little frown of barely contained disgust._

_He enjoys irritating them. That is the reason he continues with the names (either that, or the fact that when Roderich's lip curls up in disdain, he knows that behind it is an almost grudging affection)._

_"Herr Kortig," says Franz, gesturing at the surprised messenger "is here to deliver a message to you from your boss."_

_"Thanks Franzy-pants. You can go now." _

_It's hard to keep from laughing at the man's narrowed eyes and fake smile as he turns and walks away. So damn entertaining, the way he attempts to come off as polite. You can't fool a nation, he thinks he watches Franz's retreating back._

_I've been around long enough to know what you think of me._

_"Herr Beilschmidt?" Bastian clears his throat and he turns back towards the messenger. _

_"Bastian! So what brings you to Vienna? Couldn't it wait until I got back home?"_

_"Nein, sir. It is a very important matter, concerning the trade agreement with Sweden. You'll have to go there immediately. They are on the brink of signing the contract."_

_"Seriously?" he grins. So Berwald was ready to sign. "Right Bastien my man, go get one of the cooks to make you breakfast or something. The awesome me will meet you in half an hour to go to the great north."_

_Bastien nods and leaves. He turns and heads back into the bedroom, chuckling happily to himself._

_"A trade agreement with Sweden?"_

_He looks up and sees Roderich perched almost delicately on the edge of the bed. His hair, even though he's just woken up, is almost perfectly in place, except for that one curl that always flew high. He feels a sudden urge to reach out and muss up the brown locks._

_"Woke up before you today!" he teases, closing the door behind him. Roderich rolls his eyes, and gives a small snort._

_"It had to happen eventually." _

_The Austrian folds his arms, and raises an eyebrow above his wire frames._

_"What is going on with Sweden? It's the Zollverein isn't it?"_

_"Don't worry about it Roddy." he smirks as Roderich frowns. "It's got nothing to do with Austria."_

_"A trade agreement with Sweden will open up the huge Scandinavian market. It will be fantastic for your economy, won't it Gilbert?"_

_Oh. So that's what this was about. _

_"Don't be a baby Roderich." He shrugs his shoulders in defence and Roderich gives a gentle, offended snort. "Get over it. Austria's not in the Zollverein, and never has been. Deal with it."_

_"Please. I'm not jealous of your little club Gilbert. I just..." he trails off, and for a moment, seems to lose his concentration._

_"Roddy? Roderich? Hey! Don't ignore the awesome me when I talk to you!"_

_With a quick shake of his head, Roderich regains focus._

_"I apologise. I'm a little unwell." _

_The Austrian purses his lips briefly, before continuing._

_"As I was saying, I am just concerned for Austria's economy. That's all."_

_"You're just mad that if old Berwald signs the agreement with me, I'm going to have more money then you!"_

_Oh, fuck. He didn't intend to say that out loud. The economy is a dangerous topic, something he absolutely positively cannot talk about around the Austrian. Especially not now._

_He sees the Austrian's eyes narrow as the words sink in, and it excites him, just a little. Roderich is always elegant, always refined, but when the pianist is angry... he is downright sexy and it's beautiful._

_No. No, no, no, no, no, he repeats in his head and he backs away slowly. He has to go. The trade agreement is absolutely vital. If he succeeds in getting it signed... the world is his._

_So he says the first thing that comes to mind, the first thing he thinks of when looking at the Austrian's furious, perfect, face._

_"I love you."_

_The look of shock is immediate on both their faces._

_The words had always hung in the air in between them, unspoken. But he was saying it now and there was no going back, was there? _

_He dives forward, kissing the Austrian quickly before slowly making his way out. He hears the reply just as he steps through the doorway:_

_"I love you too."_

_It's barely a whisper but it's coming from the Austrian and somehow that's enough._

_He smiles._

* * *

><p><strong>Hey everyone! Thank you for sticking around! I think Hima can read my mind because... hetaliaartestella .tumblr tagged Austria  
>(remove spaces, it's the first picture of Austria) here is almost exactly the image I had in my mind during the last scene of the last chapter (it was more emotional in my head :3). Notice the hand grabbing his arm? Yeah :D<br>HISTORY TIME:  
>Ok, so basically, from 1506-1700, Spain was ruled over by the major branch of the Hapsburg's (which were Austria's royal family). This was generally acknowledged to be a very good time for Spain, a time when they were a major European power. It was, you could say, the Spanish Golden Age.<br>The Zollverein (or German Customs Union) was a coalition of Germanic states which was established around 1818 by the ruling family of Prussia. This coalition organised custom and economic policies within itself. It kept expanding till around 1866, and eventually included most of the German states. Austria had been excluded from this because of its highly protected trade industry. In 1865, the Zollverein signed a free trade agreement with Sweden, allowing them to trade in Scandinavia (which was a huge market) and really helped boost their economy.  
>While this was happening, Austria was struggling with its economy, and had been for a while (due to the Hungarian Revolution in 1848, and the Second Italian War of Independence in 1859). The exclusion of them from this coalition is thought to be one of the major contributors to the Austro-Prussian rivalry. So basically, at the time, Austria was the major economic power, but Prussia was growing steadily stronger and looking to overtake them economically ad become the major power in Europe instead.<br>Again, I don't explain this very well, so do some research if you're interested :)**

**Reviews? :D**


	3. Part Three

**AN: I don't know why it's so much easier for me to write emotional stuff than light hearted humorous stuff. Maybe I'm weird? Warning! Kind of a strange time skip here! Check the dates carefully :D This chapter is written a little... blah-ey **

**DISCLAIMER: Neither Hetalia, nor '****_Someone Like You'_**** belong to me.**

* * *

><p><strong>Part Three<strong>

**_Late January 1866_**

_Was it just him, or did the staff at Roderich's house seem a little thinner? Were the walls just a little more bare? The temperature just a little bit colder?_

_It had to be his imagination. It was probably just because he hadn't visited in a while._

_Not since Christmas..._

_He consoles himself with this as he walks down the long corridor to Roderich's room. He has missed Vienna. He's missed Roderich._

_This is not a personal trip. He reminds himself of this as he reaches the large double doors that lead into the room he knows so well. _

_Business. Purely business._

_A small part of him wishes that he wasn't here for work. Not as a representative of the Kingdom of Prussia._

_Just Gilbert._

_Not to meet the representative of the Austrian Empire._

_Just Roderich._

_He hesitates before knocking quietly. Normally he would simply burst in, not even announcing his arrival._

_But it is different now._

_"Come in." _

_That beautiful, beautiful voice. Right now, it is soft, melodic, like one of those piano pieces Roderich likes so much. The last time he heard it, it had been laced with bitterness, raised in anger. He hesitates once more before opening the door._

_The musician is standing by the window that overlooks the streets of Vienna, turned away from the door. The evening light is grey, casting pale shadows along the walls. _

_He looks as regal and controlled as ever. But the purple coat that once fitted the musician so well, hangs a little, ever-so-slightly baggy on the pianist's frame. He blinks at the sight of it. Roderich seems worse... even worse than at Christmas. The guilt starts to set in, a nagging feeling that he banishes to the depths of his mind. _

_It isn't his fault. Right?_

**_1900_**

"You don't mean it. You don't want me to go." he almost pleads. He's not begging. The awesome Prussia never, ever begs. "You've never, ever wanted me to leave you."

"And you've never, ever, learnt how to listen." the musician's reply is calm, his face carefully controlled. He can tell that Roderich is trying, so, so hard not to let anything show.

"I know you too well. I don't need to listen to your words to see how you feel."

"That's where you are wrong, Gilbert."

Roderich turns, wrenching his arm out of his grasp almost painfully.

"Please Gilbert..."

**_Christmas 1865_**

_"Please Gilbert..."_

_Where had he gone wrong? How had what started as such an awesome day degraded into... this?_

_He knew he shouldn't have brought it up. Not at Christmas. Damn his big mouth... always saying shit that he shouldn't mention, in the least delicate way possible._

_What had he said again? _

_"Merry Christmas Roddy! By the way, my boss wants the Austrian Empire to give up a couple of duchies to the Kingdom of Prussia! Here's your present! I hope you like it."_

_No. It hadn't been that bad, surely. Maybe not that bad, but it wasn't far off. It was supposed to have been such a great day. He'd spent a long time picking out Roderich's present, which now lay, unopened, on the nightstand._

_How could he ruin this? When he loved Roderich, so, so much..._

_It had been at dinner too. Vash, Lilli, Ludwig, Elizaveta... they had all been there. They'd all seen the look on Roderich's face as he had blurted it out. The rest of dinner after that had been extremely tense, with the other nations all leaving early, save Elizaveta, who had stayed to 'help the servants clean up'._

_But at least it had been kind of nice, right? Now, here, in Roderich's bedroom, was where everything would start._

_"Why?"_

_"Why what?"_

_"Why do you want them? They are ours. We govern them together." _

_The Austrian had sounded hurt, almost a little baffled. _

_"Because..."_

_He had struggled to come up with words. All the reasons in his minds sounded so... ugly. Because he was the Kingdom of Prussia. Because he was the greatest power in Europe now. Because he had more money now._

_ "Please Gilbert..." the Austrian's voice is soft. Why isn't the musician getting angry? Why is he being such a freaking pushover?_

_For some odd reason, he finds himself getting angry. Angry at what, he's not sure._

_"Just give them to me Roderich. Your reign is over. The Kingdom of Prussia is stronger now! Austrian Empire? More like, former Austrian Empire. You've been getting weaker... I know it, you know it, everyone knows it! Give them up!"_

_The words spill out almost uncontrollably, teeming with arrogance and pride. These things he has always had in abundance, but never, ever like this. Half of him is enjoying the insults, enjoying the feeling of power. The other half is suffering. This half can see the effect his words are having on his beautiful Austrian. _

_It hurts, because he knows that Roderich is hurting._

_Their relationship... it has always been a balancing act. Not so much a battle, but a mutual understanding of each other's dominance. But the balance has been shifting, slowly, in his favour._

_The two greatest European powers, together? It could never have lasted, right? Surely, sooner or later, one of them would have to fall, and clearly, it would be Austria._

_The weak would crumble and be trampled underfoot by the strong._

_He tells himself this in an attempt at justification as his words take a venomous turn, becoming more and more vicious by the second. _

_He doesn't notice how the Austrian's fist is clenching, the skin paling. He doesn't see the violet eyes narrowing and being set ablaze. So he is surprised when the Austrian opens his mouth._

_"That is enough Prussia."_

_The use of his country name seems to stop him in his tracks, halt the flow of words that is pouring out of his mouth (words which he no longer seems to understand). The formality of Prussia just sounds so wrong, too wrong, coming from Roderich's lips._

_"Get out. Get the hell out." Roderich spits the words out like they are the worst thing to ever cross his lips. The bitterness in them stings, and the six words seem to head barrelling towards his heart._

_He needs no other instruction. It would be too painful for both of them if he stayed._

**_Late January 1866_**

_"Do you hate me?"_

_They are the first words out of his mouth. He feels like he shouldn't lead with them, yet he needs to know. _

_"Why would I hate you." _

_Flat, toneless syllables. Far from the melodic tone of a few moments ago. It's not a question, but a statement._

_Fine. Two can play at this game. All business it is then. As much as it cuts him to do so, he drops the issue, and launches into the prepared spiel._

_"The Kingdom of Prussia cordially asks that the Austrian Empire relinquishes control over the duchies of Schleswig, Hollstein and Saxe-Lauenburg to the Kingdom of Prussia, whom shall govern them solely."_

_"The Austrian Empire cordially refuses."_

_"We ask that you reconsider."_

_"We refuse once more."_

_He speaks to Roderich's back, as the Austrian has not turned to greet him. Slowly, he steps forward, joining the Austrian's side. Roderich tenses at his proximity._

_"I kind of figured." It's too hard being so... cold. "I'm sorry..."_

_"You have nothing to be sorry for." _

_There it is. That hard edge in Roderich's voice that he had lacked at Christmas. Complete and utter refusal. _

_He's missed it too much._

_"Did you ever get around to opening your Christmas present?" he finds himself asking the question. "It was pretty awesome, if I do say so myself."_

_Roderich seems surprised by the sudden change of topic. Slowly, he walks over to the nightstand, opens the draw and brings over the small gift, wrapped in red tissue._

_To be honest, a part of him doesn't want to see the gift he put so much time into choosing, the gift he'd spent so long wondering whether to even to get. But a smaller, sadder part of himself needs to see it. To acknowledge that it is real, that it is not a figment of his imagination._

_"Open it."_

_So the Austrian does without complaint. The little box nestled in the tissue... a month ago would have meant so much more. Now it just seems forlorn._

_He's not as stupid as a lot of people think he is. He's smart enough to see that they are broken. _

_"I still love you." he whispers to the Austrian, who seems to be able to do nothing but stare at the tiny velvet lined box._

_The cold hard diamond set in the white gold band is as dead as they are, but the Austrian kisses him quickly and for a while, at least, they can pretend to be alive._

_He runs his fingers through the familiar silky hair (messing it up oh so wonderfully), all in all remembering that there is no point, absolutely no point._

_The Austrian Empire has refused to give up the duchies._

_The Kingdom of Prussia would soon declare war._

**_1900_**

"Don't 'please Gilbert' me." he grabs the Austrian's arm again, tighter this time.

"Don't grab my arm."

"It's always... always a fight with you isn't it?"

The Austrian actually smiles, just a small smile. That tiny facial movement excites him, because it's been what seems like forever since he's made Roderich smile.

"It's how we are Gilbert. It's who we are."

Who we are... the words strike a thought in his brain.

"What would you have said?"

The change of subject halts the musician in his tracks. He's never been good with fast paced conversations.

"Excuse me?"

"At Christmas. If I hadn't... you know..."

It's amazing (to him) how Roderich instantly knows what he is talking about. How he instinctively understands his inability to vocalise his thoughts .

"I... I would have..."

Roderich's lack of answer kills him slowly. That Christmas has always been one of his biggest regrets, one of his greatest unanswered questions.

"Tell me the truth... please Roderich."

Ok, so maybe he is begging now. He needs to know.

He _needs _to.

The Austrian has always been good at making him wait. He can see the memories replaying themselves in Roderich's head, almost reliving the past with him.

"Roderich..."

"I would have said yes."

* * *

><p><strong>So... I basically fudged around with history a lot here. Hey, before anyone disappears on me, how would you guys like companion pieces to this fic? I have ideas already XD One from Austria's POV entitled 'Turning Tables' which would be set around this time, and a little bit afterwards (in the aftermath of the Prusso-Austrian War). Also a sequel of sorts entitled 'Set Fire to the Rain' from Hungary's POV, about the breakup of the Austria-Hungary. You may have figured out that my OT3 is Frying Pangle...<br>HISTORY TIME:  
>Not a big long history lesson today! Basically, this is all just lead up to the Prusso-Austrian War (dun dun duuuuuuuuun)<br>**


	4. Part Four

**AN: Not a lot to say. Enjoy this part!**

**DISCLAIMER: Neither Hetalia, nor '_Someone Like You'_ belong to me.**

* * *

><p><strong>Part Four<strong>

**_22nd July 1866_**

_He was a coward. He had never ever thought he'd say those words, but with what he'd done..._

_Months of tense, conflicted meetings. Short, painful rendezvous that they both knew were leading down a dead-end road, but neither of them could stop. Even that heavy threatening air of battle that surrounded them couldn't put them off._

_Every time, he had told himself it was the last. Every time, he had lied._

_So when June (that awful, awful month) finally came, he resolved to end everything cleanly, and bring the war declaration to Roderich himself._

_But he didn't. He couldn't._

_Instead, he had ordered someone else to do it, because he... he couldn't face it._

_Cutting the wound open quickly would be too painful. He would rather let it grow worse than feel that pain._

_He sits on his horse, riding at the front of his rather impressive army, and it is Roderich that he thinks of._

_Roderich with the violet eyes. Roderich with the arrogant half-smile. _

_Roderich that glares at him with something dark, with so much loathing._

_He clutched at his head, wishing for the thoughts to stop. What's the point of thinking about someone that you are about to destroy? _

_The war between the Kingdom of Prussia and the Austrian Empire has been going on for longer than a month now and the fight has been hard._

_He has caught naught but a tiny glimpse of purple that proves that Austria's representative is even fighting this war. Whether this makes him glad, or disappointed, he does not know._

_It will be the end today. The two warring nations have traded many blows, but this time, he is sure. The Austrians are clearly defeated, and his boss is expected to order a ceasefire anytime now._

_"Gilbert?" _

_He looks left to see another nation on a horse ride up to him, usually bright face dirtied with mud and bruises. He is not smiling._

_"Feliciano. How's the fighting going on your end?" he asks, grimacing at the injuries on the little Italian's face. Sure, the kid is a nation, and used to fighting, but come on, he's freaking adorable! _

_"Austrian troops are very strong. He's beaten us in every battle!" _

_Somehow the words appear almost cheery coming from Feliciano's mouth. _

_"It doesn't matter Feliciano. The awesome me and my awesome troops have got him for sure now!" _

_He tries to pitch his voice so that his tone is almost as light as Feliciano's, but misses the mark. The small hesitations, the absolute tiny stutter on 'him', do not slip by the Italian._

_"Gilbert? You can stop fighting so hard you know. I know you don't want to hurt him. I don't either."_

_"..."_

_He starts to reply by his words are cut off by the sudden boom of a cannon being fired. _

_An Austrian cannon._

_The explosion rips through his mind, ringing in his ears, but it is not what sends all coherent thought fleeing from his head._

_The sight of the beautiful aristocrat riding in fiercely on a white horse at the head of an army seems to be out of some fairy tale. It's impossible that this is real._

_But it is, and he knows it, but the last time..._

_The last time he was there, riding beside him._

**_1900_**

"So it was all my fault. My bloody fault."

He curses himself for the things he did back then, for the things he cannot change now.

If only... if only...

There are too many 'if onlys' in his life. If only he hadn't gotten power hungry. If only he'd just been willing to share.

But then again... would anything have been different?"

**_22nd July 1866_**

_Roderich calls to his army, shouts of encouragement, in such a wonderfully passionate voice. The Austrian troops respond with shouts of war, and eagerly dive into the fray of battle with the Prussians and Italians._

_He himself starts slashing wildly with the sword at his side, taking down men quickly._

_Leaving fallen troops in his wake, he rides his horse through the masses of bloodstained, frenzied men, yet cannot seem to get any closer to his target._

_There is Roderich, so elegant, even while killing. Once again, he is reminded of just how utterly beautiful the nation is, even more so with the lust of battle in his ever movement and his every glance._

_So beautiful it hurts him to look. _

_He throws himself back into the battle and loses himself in the carnage. Rather the contorted faces of dying men then the image of the musician on his horse._

_Slash. Stab. Chop. Slash._

_Over and over and over again for what seems like forever, before at last, the battle is almost over._

_Almost._

_Somehow, he has left the last few pockets of fighting soldiers (his own army is winning, clearly) and fought his way to the left of the main battlefield, having dismounted his horse._

_Somehow, so has Roderich._

_"So, here we are."_

_He isn't even sure which one of them speaks. Whether the words came from his own mouth, or the Austrian's, is a mystery to him. All he knows is that he's lost in the intense anger in Roderich's eyes._

_"This is... this is the end, isn't it Gilbert?"_

_Oh, his voice so flat, so controlled. He wants to hear the musician lose it, throw the composure away._

_So he attacks, but finds his sword being blocked by the Austrian's own._

_"I guess it is. For you, anyway."_

_He quips, and a grin emerges on his face from the part of him that is so, so happy to see Roderich. _

_He thought he'd squashed that part._

_"Oh please, Gilbert."_

_The Austrian raises an eyebrow. Sarcasm. Mocking. Oh this was so, so much better than silence. _

_And with that, the sword fight intensifies. Months of pent up rage, months of bitter, unspoken words fly out into the open. This is not the respectable fencing of two gentlemen, but the rough fight of two untrained enraged peasants._

_At some point, he starts to lose himself again. He feels that stupid arrogance build up inside him and that violent, nation, part of himself calls for Roderich's blood._

_He's always been better at the messy stuff, but Roderich is still a power. It is by luck, sheer sheer luck that he knocks the sword out of the Austrian's hand._

_He holds the blade of his sword up to the musician's creamy neck, one arm wrapped around his torso. They are so close, oh so close._

_If he wanted, he could kill Roderich here. Destroy Austria forever._

_The wrath loving, bloodthirsty voice in his head clamours for it. _

_"Well then Gilbert. It seems you've won, haven't you?"_

_The Austrian's tone is bitter, but breathless. He can feel Roderich's chest heave as the musician breathes in hard, and the slight flutter in his heartbeat._

_His hand, the one holding the blade, shakes ever so slightly. From tension? Apprehension? Or the sheer proximity of Roderich's body?_

_"Go on then. Kill me and take Schleswig. It's all that you care about, isn't it?"_

_Damn him. Damn him to hell._

_How was it, that even when it was his head on the chopping block, the musician always knew what to say to mess with him?_

_He moves the blade just a little closer to the vulnerable underside of Roderich's neck. So close... he feels the musician's heartbeat speed up._

_Kill him. Do it. Power over Europe._

_Just one teensy bit closer and –_

_"Ceasefire! Ceasefire everyone!"_

_He turns his head to see the General of his army calling the troops to stop._

_Slowly, he lets go and Roderich collapses before him, fallen at his feet, yet still glaring at him with contempt. Roderich makes no attempt to run, and he makes no attempt to kill him._

_"Why?" he finds himself asking. "Why the hell would you think I could kill you?"_

_"Why the hell wouldn't I?"_

_The words make him feel sick inside, sick at the thought of what he almost did._

_Would he... could he really have done it?_

_He almost throws up when he realises, that the answer is yes._

**_1900_**

"It wasn't entirely your fault Gilbert. It never, ever was."

He feels a hand on his shoulder and reaches to clutch at it. Instantly, the musician pulls his hand away, leaving him grasping at nothing.

"Power... power corrupts. We are nations, born and raised. We all do things that we regret. The fault was both of ours. I should never have blamed you for my own problems..."

"I should never have caused you those problems." he says through now gritted teeth, hands at his side, fists clenched. "Imagine it Roderich! We could have had everything. _Everything_! But I had to go and –"

"Stop it Gilbert! Just stop playing this stupid game with me!"

All of a sudden, the Austrian's voice is completely different. He is on edge, irritated.

"What the_ hell_ are you talking about Roderich?"

"This... you... here. Bringing up the past, the possibilities! Just... stop it! Right now!"

"Why should I?" the words slip out from between his lips, almost subconsciously. "Does it make you feel _bad _Roderich? Does it _hurt_? Go on, admit it... there's something there. _Something still exists here..._ We both know it's not over-"

"Because _neither_ of us ever had the guts to end it!"

**_23rd August 1866_**

_Impatiently, he taps his fingers on the desk in front of him._

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

_Every light touch is a passing second, a second he is alone in this lame, stifling room._

_"Gilbert?"_

_The lightly accented voice startles him. _

_"Francis? Why the hell are you here? You weren't even involved in the war."_

_Francis smiles and brushes back a lock of stray blond hair. _

_"That is correct, mon ami! However, dear Roderich's boss asked my boss if France would help negotiate this peace treaty on behalf of Austria. So here I am!"_

_He says this all with that usual dramatic flair. Usually it amuses him, but today, the Frenchman's antics are getting on his nerves._

_"Whatever." _

_Francis laughs at the abrupt, flat reply. _

_"Oh, mon cher. Someone is not in a good mood today!" the Frenchman turns his head, searching. _

_"Speaking of unhappy nations... where is Roderich? He's not usually so... tardy."_

_"I'm here."_

_Two syllables. One sentence._

_All it takes for the atmosphere in the room to become entire unbearable. The air is tense. It weighs down heavy on him, pushing him almost to the point where he can't breathe, can't think..._

_Can't feel._

_How could he stand to be here? How on earth was he still standing?_

_He is not sure whether the questions are directed at himself, or the regal Austrian who almost glides into the room, eyes cold, hair perfect._

_"Roderich! You have arrived!"_

_Francis greets him with his usual air kiss, which Roderich takes with no complaint. _

_"I apologise. Elizaveta was a little slow getting ready so-"_

_"Elizaveta?" _

_It's his own voice now, almost shouting the other nation's name._

_"What the hell is she doing here?"_

_"Calm down Gilbert. I'm sure Roderich has a perfectly reasonable explanation, oui?"_

_"I don't care."_

_With those words, he finds his feet taking him out of the room, with its crushing pressure, leaving it behind him, vowing to make his boss sign his own damn peace treaty._

_Why?_

_Because Austria may have lost the war, but for some reason, it feels like he's lost something much, much bigger._

**_1900_**

"W-what?"

He stutters as he talks. It's a strange sensation, not being able to get his own words out.

"You walked out. I moved on. We never said goodbye. And for years, this... this... _thing _we had has just always been there."

"So you admit that _there's _still some spark?"

His brain skips over almost all of what Roderich is saying and focuses on the sound of his voice.

So angry. Dominant.

It's perfection .

"A spark... a spark that must be extinguished."

He hears the words now, and they cut him deep. But it only serves to make him more persistent.

"Don't say that. Don't you dare say that."

Roderich sighs.

"Gilbert... it couldn't... we couldn't have worked."

* * *

><p><strong>HEY YOU GAIZ! This chapter... written while I was all angsty (OMG NO WAI). I think there's some pretty good moments in there, but also some really iffy ones.<strong>**  
>HISTORY TIME:<br>The Prusso-Austrian War (have you guys realised how special I am by the fact that I randomly switch between Prusso-Austrian and Austro-Prussian XD) or the Seven Weeks War. Basically, Italy was allied with Prussia during this war, and the war was ended quickly by the Prussians, for fear of intervention by France or Russia. On the 23rd of August, the Peace of Prague was negotiated between Austria and Prussia, with France coming in on behalf of Austria. Eh, I'm explaining this weirdly, but it's like 11pm and I'm tired. Google for more info :D  
><strong>


	5. Part Five

**AN: Tina is having technical difficulties. She would like to inform you that this piece will probably be over soon. She would also like to say that this is a lie, and that she really has no idea when this will finish. She would also like to warn you about language in this part.**

**DISCLAIMER: Neither Hetalia, nor '****_Someone Like You'_**** belong to the author known as TinaBanina96.**

* * *

><p><strong>Part Five<strong>

**_May 1868_**

_They are calling it the Austro-Hungarian Compromise. The bringing together of two nations under two bosses, one name, and one overall 'empire'._

_He is not alone when the news reaches him. In fact, it is Antonio that informs him about this new pact in Europe, this important new bond between nations. If he had not been deliberately avoiding any news from that part of the continent, he would have known long before the Spaniard._

_ "Austria-Hungary." Antonio says, green eyes peering intently at his face. "They made it official last year, mi amigo. Roderich-"_

_"I don't fucking care." he responds, loudly, with just a touch of arrogance._

_It doesn't fool Antonio._

_His old friend can see the numbing effect of his words, the way the mere mention of that name forces his mind into a place he does not wish to go. _

_He had been doing a wonderful job of becoming oblivious lately. His staff... his boss... random passers-by... all had learnt not to mention the nations 'Austria' and 'Hungary', or any name that even sounded remotely like 'Roderich' or 'Elizaveta'._

_They didn't know why... but they had learnt quickly. _

_"Gilbert... I'm not stupid." _

_The Spaniard blinks, long lashes brushing his cheekbones, brown hair falling lazily over his face._

_"Clearly you are not okay."_

_"Clearly you're fucking blind. I am awesomely wonderful." he drawls, but the arrogance is gone. There is no attempt at malice, merely argument for argument's sake._

_"Roderich-"_

_"Don't. Just don't."_

_He can practically feel Antonio's concern bearing down on him. It wraps around him softly, smothering him in kind words and gentle advice -_

_But he doesn't need to be fixed._

_It is not like he doesn't know that the Austrian has moved on. _

_The absence of Roderich is something he can't run from and can't fight off. His only solution is to hide, ignoring the little part of him that just feels..._

_Empty._

_Not that he did that._

_The most awesome and powerful Kingdom of Prussia didn't need emotions._

**_1900_**

_"Gilbert... it couldn't... we couldn't have worked."_

The words hit him like Roderich has stabbed him through the heart, twisting the knife on the way in. But he won't fall, and his own words won't die in his throat again.

By god, he won't let some stupidly painful statement stop him.

"200 years. You gave Antonio 200 years." he says in retaliation, grasping onto a wisp of a thought, expanding it, stretching it out. "He got centuries, yet... what makes me so fucking different?"

He sees that Roderich is taken aback.

Silence. Oh fuck no. Not silence.

"Everything." says Roderich simply, uncertainly, after a moment's pause. "Just... everything."

That's not enough. That answer just isn't good enough.

"Bullshit Roderich."

"The situation... the power involved..."

"I said bullshit!"

**_July 1868_**

_He doesn't know why he's there._

_Actually, that's a lie._

_He knows exactly why he's there, walking slowly through the streets of Vienna, on familiar pathways which he hasn't trod in a long time._

_Three syllables, echoing around his head for months._

_The noise was starting to drive him insane._

_But that was it. He was just here to get a little glimpse._

_It wasn't like he'd visited Vienna in secret every week (sometimes more than once) since Antonio's visit in the hopes of seeing a purple coat._

_Not like that at all._

_He reaches a familiar building and heads for the front door, before remembering that he is no longer a part of those who can just waltz right on in with no questions asked._

_Damn. It is like the seve– ugh, first time he has done that this we– ugh, ever._

_"Gilbert?"_

_He turns quickly at the sound of a feminine voice._

_Elizaveta stands there, one hand placed gracefully on her waist. She watches him, raising her left eyebrow. A frown tugs at the corner of her lips._

_"What are you doing here?" she asks, voice suspicious. _

_The sight of her makes his head ache. The way she looks so comfortable standing in the garden of Roderich's house. The way she narrows her eyes at him, questioning._

_Like she owns the place, and he doesn't belong._

**_1900_**

"What about Liz? You've been married-"

He winces at the words that come from his mouth.

"-to her for what, 32... 33 years now?"

Why not him?

_"Gilbert..."_

It could have been him.

_"...it couldn't..."_

"Please don't mess with me Roderich."

His voice drops in decibel levels, dangerously low. He sees that the Austrian is a deer caught in lights, eyes wide and unsure how to deal with the situation.

_"... we couldn't have worked."_

But Roderich's words- those painful, painful words- just won't leave his head.

"Gilbert..."

"Don't 'Gilbert' me!"

He finds himself rushing at Roderich again, grabbing him by the perfectly pressed caught with both hands, purple fabric crumpling in his clenched fists.

He feels soft fingers pry his hands open, forcing them gently into letting go, and he almost sinks to his knees. His head seems to drop into his own hands.

The longer he stays, the more he says. The more he says, the more he feels.

He doesn't want to _feel_ anymore.

"I just wanted to know if you were happy..."

**_July 1868_**

_How dare she invite him inside! How dare she be so civil... so polite!_

_"I hate to repeat myself, but what are you doing here Gilbert?"_

_"I could ask you the same thing Liz."_

_Elizaveta rolls her green eyes._

_"This is my house."_

_"No, it's Roderich's house."_

_He watches as she sighs, and looks at him like he's some child. _

_"Seriously Gilbert?"_

_"Completely Liz."_

_It's pure banter. He's used to speaking to her, trading taunts and remarks in jest. But though the way she speaks isn't any different to before, everything she says is mocking to his ears._

_He keeps his light-hearted tone, keeps the little smirk that he always wears around her._

_"So... you're married now, huh?"_

_It would be a lie to say that the smile is easy._

_The Hungarian nods slowly. _

_"Don't tell me you came all this way to confirm that. Because that's stupid, even for you."_

_"I didn't. Just... passing through."_

_"Just passing through? You keep coming back."_

_"What! No I don't."_

_"I've seen you hanging around Vienna 17 times in the last month."_

_"..."_

_She has always been able to beat him in word play. In any other case, he would let it go._

_But not this time... this time any little victory of her over him escalates in his mind. _

_His head starts to hurt just a little more. He clenches a fist, and she notices._

_"Again Gilbert... what do you want?"_

_"Nothing."_

_Lies._

_"I don't want anything from you."_

_All lies._

_He's always been good at lying._

**_1900_**

"Don't do this Gilbert."

Roderich's voice is gentle and it frustrates him. How can someone switch so quickly between calm and chaos so quickly? He can push the fire into Roderich's heart, but for some reason, he can not make it catch.

He can feel Roderich's hands touch his hair lightly, and remembers how much he has missed it.

He craves the musician's touch like an addict, and it angers him how much he needs it even now.

"I'm not doing anything wrong!"

He's shouting again.

He doesn't know why.

**_July 1868_**

_"This is about Rod-"_

_"Don't say it."_

_His name. Just hearing his name coming from her mouth._

_It just feels wrong._

_"Oh, Gilbert..."_

_And now her voice is gentle and it maddens him. She pities him._

_She pities the Kingdom of Prussia._

_"I'm fine. I just came to see..."_

_He can't. The words die and choke in his throat as she looks at him, green eyes all compassionate and kind and other useless emotions._

_"You know what... forget it."_

_He stands. He has to go now or he won't leave and he will do something he regrets._

_The little voice in the back of his mind admonishes him._

_Stay Gilbert. This is your last chance._

_"He's not home."_

_His heart seems to drop like a lead weight and he knows he's stayed too long. There's nothing in this world that can make hi-_

_"Elizaveta? Prussia?"_

_What was that saying about counting chickens again?_

_"I was just leaving."_

_Shooting a bullet through his head would have been less painful than saying those words. _

_He hasn't heard that beautiful voice in almost a year... and yet now there is a strange sense of anger and hurt mixed in with the joy that he gains from hearing it._

_"You don't have to go. I see I've interrupted a chat between yourself and my wife."_

_"No. Roderich, I'll go. You need... you and Gilbert need to talk."_

_He finds it odd that it is Elizaveta leaving the room. He moves to stop her, but there's that look in her eyes, the same one she wore during that war so many years ago._

_Complete and utter determination. _

_Elizaveta exits gracefully, and closes the door behind her._

_Suddenly the room feels a whole lot smaller._

_He finds himself staring down at his feet (damn his boots were old... he should get some new ones before these get any less awesome), at the wall, even at the ceiling..._

_Anywhere but where he wants to look the most._

_"Come to gloat?"_

_The voice that slices through his wall of avoidance is not melodic. It is a jangle of chromatic passages, discordant and clashing._

_He has known the musician for centuries, yet he has never heard his voice so bitter. It angers him, spreads like wildfire through his body, and he feels it burn out the pain._

_"Don't fool yourself, Roddy. I'm not here for you."_

_Again, the lies seem to slip between his lips with ease. He feels Gilbert slip away, and the Kingdom of Prussia take over. _

_The instinct is too strong. He's a fighter, but he can't fight himself._

_One step. Two steps._

_Closer and closer, he approaches the musician slowly._

_"So, Liz huh? Congratu-fucking-lations."_

_He can see the Austrian's violet eyes narrowing, see them darkening beyond their usual bright colouring. There's a tiny voice in his head now, a quiet voice that is 'Gilbert'._

_But 'Prussia' isn't listening. Prussia is out for blood._

_"I don't think it'll last, personally. You don't love her."_

_"What would you know about love?"_

_"You love me."_

_"I despise you."_

_"No... no you don't. Otherwise you wouldn't still be in this room. You wouldn't let me be here... or are you just too much of a weakling to kick me out?"_

_Barely a metre separates them now and he can hear 'Gilbert' being drowned out by the sound of his own heartbeat as it starts to race._

_"No answer? Well..."_

_Ba-dum. _

_"The Austrian Empire... how the hell did someone like you become so powerful anyway? You sure gave up those duchies quickly, didn't you?"_

_Ba-dum. Ba-dum. _

_"Remember when I seized Silesia? Damn that was easy. You could barely fend me off... of course, even back then you had Liz to help you out..."_

_Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum._

_"Because you're nothing on your own without someone strong on your side, are you? Well? She isn't here to help you now!"_

_The sounds he hears are nothing but his blood rushing to his head. The only thing in his vision is the musician's face, contorted in what he recognises as silent rage (something that Gilbert would never want to see, but Prussia feeds off it, drawing momentum). He's so close... so close... _

_"Admit it Roderich... ADMIT IT!"_

_And now he is practically screaming, voice getting louder and louder, harsher and harsher... a crazed crescendo that seems to go nowhere-_

_Until he finds himself crushing his lips onto the musician's own, forcefully, painfully._

_It's an attack, one that stops when pain explodes in the side of his head and he lets the Austrian go. He stares with shock up back at Roderich, who is pale, paler than usual, fist raised and face cold._

_"Never. Touch me. Again."_

_The Austrian glares at him for a just a second longer, and then leaves without a single look back._

_He finds himself watching the closed door, frozen. His body seems to shake, then go numb._

_What the hell has he just done?_

_The door to the room slams open, with a violent crash into the wall that sounds like a gunshot._

_"What did you do? God damn it Gilbert!"_

_The Hungarian woman storms in, brown hair tied back. She glowers as she approaches, eyebrows raised in that mix of confusion and anger. She is in what he calls 'battle mode', ready to attack at the drop of a hat._

_"What have you done to him? He was furious, Gilbert. So tell me what you did, or so help me god..."_

_"I... don't know..." he laughs, amazed at the arrogance (though he feels anything but in the sound of his own voice. "Something too fucking awesome for him to handle I guess."_

_"How dare you." _

_The words are hissed through gritted teeth, with more disgust in the Hungarian's voice then he's ever heard before. _

_"I want you to leave. Leave us... leave Roderich alone. I never want to see you here again."_

_He stands up, and meets her eyes with his won. His gaze is oddly steady, and he smirks... a distorted smile, one with the joy sucked out of it._

_"He won't want that Liz."_

_"Get the fuck out of my house Prussia."_

_"You can't... you can't give him what I give him."_

_"You think what you have with him is healthy? Roderich just came through the kitchen, white as sheet. He was shaking, Gilbert. Shaking. He's locked himself in the music room. He won't come out for a while."_

_"That's what he does Liz. He's the piano man."_

_"Not like his Gilbert! I've known him... forever... or at least it feels like forever. I've seen him when he's angry... when he's sad. But not like this. Never like this."_

_"And you think it's me?"_

_"I know it's you! I was there, you know. I was there during the whole farce you call your relationship – you don't think I saw what it was doing to him?"_

_"What was it doing to him? We were – we can be happy. We were- are - fine."_

_"No Gilbert! You're not. I saw how weak he was getting... how strong you were getting. You don't think I saw the bruises?"_

_The words are a punch to the gut, albeit one he tries his best to ignore._

_"It was hurting him, and you if you stay any longer... you need to go. It still is hurting him, Gilbert."_

_"So I lost it a bit? So what?"_

_"What you had – and I repeat, had – wasn't healthy. Losing it is just... not healthy."_

_"Neither is always staying in control."_

_He leaves with these words, because he doesn't know what to say anymore. _

_It's over._

_No matter how hard he wishes against it, he knows it._

_It won't be the same again._

* * *

><p><strong>I AM A TERRIBLE AUTHOR. Yeah. Actually, I'm finishing this off after pulling an all nighter to get work done (I have honestly just been so, so, so busy), so there's probably a bunch of mistakes I need to fix in this part. Not 100% sure I like what I've done, but it's adequate. I really am too tired to give a history lesson. If you'd like to know more, Google the Austro-Hungarian Compromise. Please review! Reviews make me work faster on the LAST PART of this story /SHOT**


	6. Part Six

**AN: Right... this fic is definitely drawing to a close...**

**DISCLAIMER: Neither Hetalia, nor '****_Someone Like You'_**** belong to the author known as TinaBanina96.**

* * *

><p><strong>Part Six<strong>

**_1900_**

"Calm down, Gilbert."

Shut up. Shut up.

No.

Keep talking.

"I don't know how!"

His own voice is an assault on his ears, because it sounds wrong, it's all wrong and _he doesn't know how to stop it_.

So he stands, defeated by this nation that he can't seem to get over, this one that confuses him to no end, because Roderich makes him forget himself.

"Please, Gilbert."

He has tried so hard... why won't Roderich give in?

He shudders and closes his eyes because they _hurt._

His head still hangs, still listlessly in his hands, because it _hurts_.

His _heart_, that organ that beats rapidly in his chest; that muscle that doesn't really mean anything to love...

Even that seems to just... _ache_.

"Let go of me! Just, get your stupid hands off me!"

The musician's palm is cold, a few degrees cooler than his tone of voice it seems, leaving an icy trail behind it as it strokes from his hair down his cheek.

How can something so cold leave his skin burning?

"You're crying, Gilbert."

The musician is right. He's always fucking right.

He feels his hand reach up, almost subconsciously, brushing Roderich's smooth skin with his own callused fingertips. When he touches his face, it is damp.

"Oh fuck this. You win Roderich. You win. I'll leave you alone. Let you and Elizaveta have your happy ever fucking after."

For almost the first time in the last few minutes, he finds himself pulling away from Roderich.

For the first time in the least few minutes, it is Roderich holding onto him.

"It's not about winni-"

"Oh please! Just, please, shut the fuck up Roderich. Just... just listen to me!"

He wrenches himself out of Roderich's grasp, body jerking sideways almost violently. Roderich staggers, thrown off balance, and rights himself.

He has distanced himself again. He has created a foreboding quiet in the room, the room that seems to get smaller and smaller and smaller... until it is just four walls that seem to be pushing him closer to the Austrian.

But of course, it is all in his head. Everything is always in his head.

**_December, 1898_**

_Almost 31 years._

_31 years was a long time to keep a promise._

_31 years was enough time to break one._

_He tells himself this as he steps out of the train onto a crowded platform. It is the same as he remembers, only oddly brighter._

_An impulse brought him. Some crazy thought in the middle of the night from a part of himself which he has kept smothering in the back of his psyche. But that part finally grew too loud to ignore, to repress, to deny._

_Damn it, even his thoughts were loud._

_There they are._

_He spots them as he exits the train station and makes his way aimlessly through the streets, dodging through the crowds that share the roads with him on this unusually warm winter day._

_Her dress is red, a bright flame among the crisp white snow and grey hued sky. He's dressed in a long black, expensive looking coat, another sharp contrast with the brightness around him._

_They are walking slowly, arm in arm, her head on his shoulder, like any other couple around them on a winter stroll or a Christmas shopping trip. But he knows they are not._

_He stays a reasonable distance away in a totally non-stalker way._

_He's observing... that's all._

_She laughs. He laughs, and turns his head. _

_Roderich is smiling. It is a smile he's never seen before._

_It's so... peaceful._

_That is, until he sees the musician tense visibly. He freezes himself as Elizaveta asks him what's wrong._

_For a moment, he is sure Roderich has seen him. _

_They talk but for a second before continuing their walk._

_The tiny repressed part of himself begs them not to go._

**_December 25_****_th_****_, 1898_**

_He spends Christmas in France, finding himself unable to visit the Christmas Markets and declining Austria-Hungary's blanket invitation to all European countries to join them for Christmas. He and Francis have their own party, and they do nothing but drink and gossip and exchange stories. _

_Like they have time, and time before, the night ends in a flurry of kisses between the two old friends, touches that mean nothing, absolutely nothing. Caught up in a drunken haze, they serve only as reminders that neither of them are with the ones they want to be._

_With each other at least, there is something there to help them avoid the empty feeling that creeps in when they are alone. With each other at least, there is a shared sense of sympathy when Francis's voice croons the name of a blond, and when his own voice calls for a brunette._

_Together they can hide from the emptiness, if only for a short while._

**_1900_**

"I never wanted this to happen... I never wanted any of this to happen..."

"You've done nothing wro-"

"I told you to shut up! I've done everything wrong... Why didn't I fight? Who was I, the Great Kingdom of Prussia? It means nothing, if I can't fight for what I really wanted..."

"You wanted power."

"I wanted you!"

**_December 26_****_th_****_, 1898_**

_They nurse their hangovers in mutual silence and companionship. But of course, he feels the need to break it._

_"Did I do the right thing?"_

_The Frenchman looks up from where he is contemplating the contents of his coffee cup._

_"It depends on your concept of right, mon cher."_

_"She told me to go. I didn't want to."_

_Francis inclines his head slightly to the side, glancing out the window to his left. His blue eyes are hooded._

_"We never want to do the things that others feel we should. The real question is... would you have done it any other way?"_

_"I could have stayed and fought onwards. Or, going back, I could have gotten off my jerkass power spree. I could have done a lot of things differently."_

_"But would you have?"_

_"..."_

_"..."_

_"... Was she right? Elizaveta, I mean?"_

_"About what?"_

_"Me and... you know."_

_"I believe she saw something you could not see."_

_"Real vague Franny. Super helpful as always."_

_"That's why you love me, mon ami."_

_"Who could love that smug mug?"_

_"I could say the same for you."_

_With that, they are quiet again, thoughts wandering across the channel, and to the east._

**_1900_**

"Sometimes I would tell myself I never lo-"

The word is hard for him to say.

"Never l...loved you."

It feels strange... the feeling of the word on his tongue.

He hasn't said it for a while.

* * *

><p><strong>Another chapter written after an all-nighter I'm afraid! Sorry about terrible quality, and how short it is! Just off the top of my head, for those who don't know, I'm one of the writers for the Hetalia Easter Fan Event 2012, so give us a google for a great event... that may or may not involve Austria in a skirt... Review, please? :)<strong>


	7. Part Seven

**AN: This is it... the end of this story. I don't know how I feel about this...**

**DISCLAIMER: Neither Hetalia, nor '****_Someone Like You'_**** belong to me.**

* * *

><p><strong>Part Seven<strong>

**_1900_**

_"_Did it help?"

"Fuck no."

**_December 31_****_st_****_, 1898_**

_The last one, he tells himself, the last trip. He has said this every time he comes back. _

_That look, that happy look the musician wore, is burned into his conscience. It used to be his look, and his alone._

_Only he got to make Roderich smile._

_He rings in the New Year in a shabby tavern in Vienna's back streets, among sad drunks and penniless loners, ordering glass after glass of whatever they'll give him. _

_But that perfect Christmas someone else had in his place haunts him, and the perfect New Year someone else was having at the moment makes him sick._

_He swears to himself it's the alcohol._

**_1900_**

"I used to come back... just to... just to _see_ you, be _near _you. Just being in the same damn city... I don't know... Fuck, I didn't mean to say that, that was meant to stay secret."

"I know already."

**_1900_**

_They are having dessert, some ridiculously fancy cake._

_He watches from outside as she convinces him to give her the last piece. When they kiss, he looks away._

**_1900_**

_The happy couple on another walk, through a park this time._

_He's lucky there are so many trees around._

**_1900_**

_They're in the music room. He knows this room like the back of his hand, every nook, every cranny._

_She's with him as he plays, scales and arpeggios first, elegant fingers running up and down the keyboard without a flaw in sight._

_She is transfixed, as she should be, but leaves after around an hour and a half._

_The pianist is alone now._

_He watches intently as Roderich begins to play. The piece in F Major is familiar._

_Schumann. A German composer. He has heard Roderich play this many times, but today it just feels... different. It takes him a minute to remember the name._

_Maybe it's because he is not sitting in the music room, attempting to distract the musician. Maybe it's because he is out here instead, separated by a barely open glass window, perched haphazardly on a tall tree._

_He finds himself edging closer and closer to the window as he listens. The music seems wistful, each note played with perfect precision._

_The emotion that Roderich played with has always been remarkable._

_The final chords of the song are slower, more careful. Roderich seems to linger on the last note, just a little too long, just a little too soft. _

_He finds that he's opened the window wide, he's come into the room, and that Roderich has turned to face him, scowling. Some dream..._

_ "Will you never leave me alone you insufferable idiot."_

Of course... of course Roderich knew. He always knew...

He feels his lips curling into a smile, a _real_ smile, for what feels like the first time in 36 years.

It's just so... damn typical.

"Träumerei." he says simply.

Roderich nods, a careful smile just touching his lips, but he keeps his distance.

"Dreaming."

"You always did like Schumann."

"German composers... many of them are geniuses."

They stand there, frozen once again, but this time it is in a happier place, one that he wishes he had never left.

"She told me to stay away."

"You didn't."

"Did you want me to?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"You know. You always know."

"This time... I don't."

"I don't care."

He always used to think that Roderich knew god damn everything about him.

It takes one look into the musician's eyes at this point to realise that it is in fact the other way round.

The kiss comes exactly as he expects. There is a faint bitterness, a taste of salt that taints the kiss, and it lasts for just a second, with only the lightest of touches.

But it means something.

He sees the faint trail of tears left behind on Roderich's somber face, and knows there are matching ones on his own.

"You need to go Gilbert."

It takes everything he has to turn and walk away, as his feet are heavy.

He reaches the door and turns back, to find the musician is watching him, fists clenched, with a look unreadable to even him etched on his aristocratic features.

"Just one more thing, Roddy." he says with feigned lightheartedness, but even he can hear the tinge of defeat

"You never did tell me... are you happy?"

* * *

><p><em>I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited<br>But I couldn't stay away,  
>I couldn't fight it<br>I had hoped you'd see my face  
>And that you'd be reminded that for me<br>It isn't over_

_Never mind, I'll find someone like you  
>I wish nothing but the best for you too<br>Don't forget me, I beg  
>I remember you said,<br>"Sometimes it lasts in love  
>But sometimes it hurts instead,<em>

_Sometimes it lasts in love  
>But sometimes it hurts instead<em>

* * *

><p><strong>So guys... this is the end HUGS YOU ALL. I hope you've enjoyed this fic! I've loved writing it. I've poured my heart and soul into this. I actually feel kind of devastated finishing it. Oh gosh... just /no feelings to describe this.  
>So the future of Roderich and Gilbert... I plan to not so much continue their story so to say, but provide a companion fic through Roderich's eyes entitled '<strong>**_Turning Tables'_****. Thank you all for sticking with me through my first multi-chapter Hetalia fic!  
>EDIT: <strong>**_Turning Tables _****is now up on my profile, along with a sequel oneshot entitled ****_Somebody That I Used to Know._**


	8. NOTE

Hey everyone! This is mostly for the sake of new readers, and also anyone who missed it the last time I posted a note about it.

**Someone Like You **is over, but I do currently have **Somebody That I Used to Know** (a distant sequel of sorts) and **Turning Tables **(a companion piece which overlaps with this story, but from Roderich's POV) up on this site as well.

There is just something I want to make clear:

**SLY **is the first in the **Songverse Continuity**, a series of stories which I will be expanding on. **STIUTK **and **TT **are also in that continuity, and I currently have quite a few stories planned for this series (of which, not all will be centered around Gilbert and Roderich). These stories will all be uploaded slowly, so rest assured there is more of this series to come! :)

Looking forward to seeing you all again,

xx Tina


End file.
